Leave My Body
by Anti-canon
Summary: "Dean, I have to go away and you can't follow me. You can't look for me, you can't hope that I'll come back, and you can't ask me why."


**A/N: Erm... I really don't know what to say about this. :P Haha, so I guess I'll just go with the basics! Inspired by Florence + The Machine's Leave My Body. For some reason I just couldn't get the image of Cas having to go away, having to ascend for a while, and then this happened.**

**Anyway! Please lemme know what you thought! I love to here your guys' comments. :)**

* * *

There are things they don't know- things nobody knows about the angels. About you.

If you had your way, there wouldn't be anything between you and the brothers- you and Dean, but these aren't your secrets to tell, even though the weight of their burden rests upon your shoulders. As each day passes, you can feel the time growing closer, know that you won't be able to hold it off. You had prayed and prayed that it wouldn't come about in their lifetime, that you'd lose your grace before it ever came around, anything not to have face the situation that you are now.

You're molting.

It only happens every few hundred years with angels, but when it does, you have to return to heaven, can't properly take on the shift in this form, constricted as you are. The process can take days, can take years. There isn't a set protocol, being different with every angel, with every new cycle. Sometimes, you don't come out of it quite the same, old pieces of your grace gone and replaced with the new. You are meant to be cleansed through the action, and there is so much for you to atone.

The past few weeks you've been dropping feathers everywhere, have been feeling sick and weak. You can feel the strain being put on your vessel as you continue to try and hold it all back, to put it off until you have the time to say what you need to, to find the words for a goodbye you never wanted to utter. It takes a little manipulating, a little strong-arming to get Dean alone, but you have to manage it, because you _can't _do this with anyone else around.

"Dean-?"

He doesn't seem startled by your sudden presence, smiling softly as he turns around, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Hey Cas, me and Sammy have found some seriously cool crap in here that you've gotta see. You planning on sticking around this time? You've been a little… erratic lately-" He's trying to make a joke, eyes easy and open for once, and you can't bear the thought of taking that away, but you _know _with a sudden, gripping certainty that this is now or never.

"No."

"What?" Dean falters, eyes narrowing, pausing mid-step and hunching his shoulders. "What do you mean No?"

"I can't stay." You break away from his gaze to stare at the floor and fiddle with the sleeves of your coat, guilt and shame clogging up in your chest, keeping back all the carefully thought out words you'd chosen for this moment.

Dean brings a hand up to his face and rubs anxiously at his mouth and jaw before letting it wander back to massage his neck. "Well, geez Cas. You make it sound like forever- like you're not coming back…" You keep your eyes cast down and try not to twitch beneath his stare, opening and closing your mouth a few times, unable to bring forth any kind of response. "You _are _coming back, right?" It comes out quieter, more broken than Dean probably had meant, and it steals the breath from your lungs.

"Dean—there are things you don't know, things I can't explain-"

"Bullshit." It is firm, unrelenting, steadfast, and it sparks a little flare of hope in your heart that Dean will fight this, that he will overcome, as he always has.

"Dean, I have to go away and you can't follow me. You can't look for me, you can't hope that I'll come back, and you can't ask me why." Your hands clench into fists and you can feel tears prick behind your eyes, not out of sadness, but anger and frustration, burning hot just beneath your skin.

That wall of indecision holding him back breaks, and Dean rushes forward, hands coming up to clench at the lapels of your coat, shoving at your frame with violent, desperate jerks. "Fuck you Cas. You can't just say shit like that and expect me not to question it, can't ask me to just lay down and take it. Whatever it is, we can face it. You and me."

You just shake your head and grip lightly at his wrists, gathering your courage and pressing your forehead to his. "Please, I don't have much time, and I don't want our last minutes to be spent in anger." You close your eyes and press harder against him, trying to take in the feel of your skin pressed against his, the ghost of his breath across your lips, the soft scents of leather and gunpowder and rain that cling to his clothes and hair. You want to _remember. _"Please. I don't need the future, I don't want to think about our past. This- _this _is all that matters."

You have to know, you need to have this to keep with you, to hold onto. There is one thing on this Earth, just one thing that you can't leave without knowing, that could keep you whole. You lurch forward and press your lips to his, dropping his wrists to cup his face and twine your fingers through the short hairs at the back of his neck. He freezes beneath your touch, and you know that this is too much, too fast, that this isn't how it was supposed to go. But you don't have the time to do this right anymore, can't indulge in allowing the natural swell and burst of it all. You pull back, but only to move and kiss each of his eyelids, his nose, his temples, between his eyes, the corner of his lips, each touch feather-light, barely brushing the skin.

You step away, can't swallow past the lump in your throat, can't get past the tears running tracks down his face, the complete and utter inability to act that keeps him rooted to the spot, but he didn't stop you didn't pull away, isn't shouting angry words or looking at you with pity or sympathy or guilt. With an unfounded certainty, you are _sure._ You unfold your wings, let them stretch to their full length and manifest into the room. They quiver and flutter, feathers falling loose to the floor, each one containing a piece of yourself, a memory, a desire, a scar.

They are his.

"All these years, I'd always thought love was the happiest thing a soul could encounter, that the feeling would fill you up and make you whole, but it _hurts._ It hurts so much, Dean." You clutch at your chest and push away the tears to give him a smile- a full, genuine smile. "Thank you."

The flutter of wings rings out across the room.


End file.
